


Paperback

by quadrotriticale



Series: Side A/Side B [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Hey, M/M, POV James T Kirk, POV Second Person, Take this, and some other stuff, anyway here it is, i wrote some fluff because im tired and procrastinating, on three projects, so like, this is short but i think its cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-06 23:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15205910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quadrotriticale/pseuds/quadrotriticale
Summary: “It’s beautiful out here,” you tell him. He says nothing, but you know he agrees.





	Paperback

**Author's Note:**

> hi i intend to write a companion piece for this thats aos spirk because i sure am here to highlight their differences & similarities

Sometimes, you’re lucky. Sometimes, you get a few days off in a row. You don’t stop being the captain, of course, and ‘days off’ really just means ‘days where you don’t have to sit on the bridge’, but you appreciate it anyway. Most of the time when that happens, the ship’s in transit, at high warp and going somewhere familiar, if distant, through friendly territory. These are the days you take for yourself, to sit in your quarters or somewhere hidden on the observation deck with a good book you only ever get part way through. The stars will distract you because they always do, and the universe will take a minute to remind you that _you are here_ , wherever _here_ happens to be, whatever it happens to mean today.

It’s on one of those ‘days off’ that Spock finds you curled up on the make-shift bench in a small window in an isolated part of the observation deck, an old, dog-eared paperback of Gulliver’s Travels sandwiching one of your hands in your lap. You really had meant to get back to reading it, it just hadn’t happened. The hum of ship is a pleasant, familiar buzz in the back of your skull when he jars you from your daydream. 

“Captain,” he says, and though his voice carries it’s usual inflection, you interpret it as questioning. You jump a little, snap your head to look at him. “I apologize for startling you. I simply meant to inquire about your book.” You note his lack of uniform, though his clothes are still comfortably regulation. He was still working while you were taking time to yourself, you guess he’s off duty. 

“Small talk, Spock?” you smile, an easy thing that comes as you relax. “That’s hardly like you.” 

“Indeed.” He takes a few steps forward, asks wordlessly about the second half of the window bench you’re sitting on. You shift to make room for him, and he sits down. When he’s seated, you put your legs over his lap, shimmy down a little to a position that your brain has decided is comfortable despite your body's protests, and open your book to the page you had it on before. 

“It’s a good book,” you tell him, eyes already searching for the words you left off on. He hums in acknowledgement. “I’ll lend it to you when I’m finished if you’d like.” He doesn’t respond. You don’t expect him to. 

You pass the time like that for longer than it really registers in your brain. When you look up between words and paragraphs that struggle to hold your attention, you catch him gazing out the window at the stars, at the thin distortion of the ship’s warp bubble. You wonder what he’s thinking about. When he catches your eyes, you just smile. The lack of tension in his shoulders tells you all you need to know about how he’s feeling.

At some point you end with your back leaned up against his side, book still in your hands, though it’s here that your attention starts to drift back out the window. A speck off in the black seems a little more hazy, a little more colorful than usual. You wonder if it’s a nebula. The explorer in you wants to take a detour. The captain in you wants to continue to the location the computer’s already set for. Mostly, you just want to stay here. Spock, gently, takes the book from your hands, dog ears your page for you, keeps it in his lap. He’s right, you think. You weren’t going to get any further today. 

“It’s beautiful out here,” you tell him. He says nothing, but you know he agrees. 

The computer dings eventually, a familiar chime you know signals the end of beta shift. The lights dim, letting you know it’s pretending to be night. It’s later than you thought. 

“Perhaps you should rest, Captain,” he says eventually, softer than you’re used to hearing him talk. 

“Maybe,” you respond, moving to stand. You stretch a little, cramped position leaving you stiffer than you realized. Spock still has your book in his hand when he offers to walk you back to your quarters. His are next door, he says. It’s only logical.

On the walk to the turboshaft, you ask him if he’s ever read any Jonathan Swift. He tells you that he has. 

(“Well, have you read Gulliver’s Travels?”

“I have.”)

In the turbolift, you ask him if he’s had dinner yet. He tells you that he hasn’t. 

(“Would you care to join me, then? I haven’t either.”

“Of course, Jim.”)

In the hall on the way back to your quarters, he gives you back your book.

Dinner is a quiet affair, a shared meal at a too-small table passed in comfortable silence, your book sitting on a shelf just out of arm’s reach, cover fading and curling out, pages puffed up and well loved. When you’re done and the dishes are put away, you ask him a little sheepishly if he’d like to stay the night. This is new, still, everything you have with Spock. 

“I would,” he says, and you smile at him like he hung the stars for you.

Your night passes peacefully. Spock sleeps a bit, you think, if only because you get him into your bed and refuse to let go of him. 

In the morning, before the light comes up in the hallway and the computer tells you you’re scheduled for alpha shift, hearing the shower going in the bathroom, you watch the stars out of the view-port in your cabin, let the galaxy bid you good morning, and understand, for once, where ‘here’ is supposed to be. Your pillow smells like Spock, and you feel at home.


End file.
